


Bears

by faithlessone



Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Animal Death, F/M, and also the bears would have killed them?, because cassandra hates bears, otherwise fluff!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlessone/pseuds/faithlessone
Summary: While struggling back to camp after a stressful rift closure, the party are set upon by a familiar enemy...
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Stormheart - (M!Trevelyan/Cassandra) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756030
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Bears

Swigging back a health potion, he surveys the cave again. Only a couple of demons left now, before he can finally close this troublesome Fade Rift. He turns his attention to the Despair demon bearing down on Bull, firing off lightning to distract it while the qunari takes a much-needed breath and raises his war hammer above his horns. Another one down.

“Now!” Cassandra yells.

Instinctively, he turns, raising his left hand up at the glimmering green conflagration above him. Though he’s closed perhaps a dozen or so of these already, it still feels strange and unnatural, dragging the power of the rift inside himself. It hurts too, every time. Rippling, burning, tearing _pain_ shooting through his nerves. He lets the fire rush through him, yanking his hand back and gasping as it suddenly ends, making him bend almost double, right hand braced on his knee, trying to get his breath back.

“That was a doozy,” he hears Varric say.

“Herald?” Cassandra’s voice, and at this, he forces himself back upright. Can’t let them see him in pain.

“I agree,” he says, keeping his tone light. “Everyone all right?”

Bull wipes the back of his hand across his forehead and then does a few stretches. “Can’t complain.”

Varric finishes checking Bianca over, then brushes a hand down his side. There’s a nasty rip on the inner thigh of his leathers, but whatever wound was there has already closed. “Out of health potions, but I’m good for now.”

“As am I,” Cassandra adds, which surprises him a little. Cassandra, of all of them, is the most likely to be standing at the end of a fight, hale and hearty without a bruise on her, while the rest of them are half-dead and have to drag each other back to safety.

“To camp?” he suggests.

“Good plan, boss,” Bull agrees, as the others nod.

Taking a moment to scoop up some samples for Minaeve and a few other shiny things left over by the now departed demons, they turn and head out of Old Simeon’s Cave, heading towards the nearby camp.

Just as he thinks about how glad he is that said camp, and fresh supplies, are close at hand, he hears it.

The echoing pound of its footsteps, the low growl.

“Bear!” Cassandra warns, drawing them to a standstill.

He isn’t in the mood for a bear fight. Not that he almost ever is, but right now, tired and aching and wishing they were near a nice waterfall, he _really_ isn’t in the mood for a bear fight.

There is a cliff to the left of them, a high rock formation to the right, but there’s a less direct path back to the camp if they go back on themselves and take the other fork from the cave. If they’re quiet…

He pulls back, just in time to see another furry head poke around the bend.

Flanked.

They’re _flanked_ by bloody _bears_.

Varric lets out a stream of rather inventive expletives under his breath.

He catches Cassandra’s eye. She looks even more pissed off than usual, but she pulls her shield off her back and unsheathes her sword, ready. He follows suit with his staff, testing his magic to check how much mana he has left. The deep well he can usually feel within him is running a little dry. Reaching into the pouch on his belt, he uses his fingers to count how many lyrium vials he has left. Only two. He’d rather use one now than wish he had in a minute. He uncorks one and throws it back, just as Bull charges at the one blocking the path behind. By the time he’s stowed the empty bottle in the other pouch, the one blocking their path forward has joined the fray too.

The fight is _messy_.

Bears are a pain at the best of times, but they’ve rarely had cause to fight more than one at the same time, and never in such weakened circumstances. He’s relegated to scrambling forward and back, trying to keep clear of both sets of swiping claws, throwing lightning and ice wherever he sees an opening. He and Varric almost dance around each other, covering the two warriors who have taken a bear each.

They’ve just managed to get one injured enough that it falls to its belly, allowing Cassandra to slice across its throat, and turn to aid Bull, when a _third_ one turns up. Larger and heavier and angrier than the previous two.

Cassandra lets out a blood-curdling yell as she charges towards it, sword high. He casts an energy barrage at the bear, distracting it enough for her to get a few good slashes in, and then throws lightning sparks at the other to help Bull. It’s not elegant, and Madame de Fer would likely have many comments on his technique if she were here, but it gets the job done.

Bull smashes the smaller one in the side, then reels back as it claws at him. Brennan sends more magic his way, letting Bull get one final blow in. With its dying breath, it claws one more time, and Bull uses what looks like the last of his energy to bring his war hammer directly down on its head.

(Even for someone who has had many kinds of demon guts explode on him, Brennan thinks that the sight of the bear’s brains bursting around the Bull’s war hammer is one of the most disgusting things he’s ever seen.)

The qunari knocks back a healing potion from his belt, and they both turn toward Cassandra and the last bear.

Several crossbow bolts bristle across its hide, souvenirs from Bianca, but it doesn’t seem troubled by them, growling furiously on its hindlegs at Cassandra as she sidesteps it and tries to stab her sword into its soft belly. The creature turns, making it only a glancing blow, and then…

It doesn’t actually happen in slow motion, Brennan is certain, but it feels that way. He sees the bear tilt as it dodges, bringing one foreleg out in a mighty swipe as it goes for her. She steps back, slipping on the blood and brains of the second bear, and the claws slash across her breastplate as she falls.

The sound of her helm crashing against the rocks behind her makes his blood turn to ice.

The fact that she doesn’t make another movement after freezes his very soul.

“Cassandra!”

He can’t help but scream her name, abandoning his relatively safe ground in favour of charging across the pass, lightning bursting from his staff.

At the very least, it has the benefit of distracting the bear, tempting it to leave the prone warrior in favour of the attacking mage, which gives Varric the opportunity to send one of his special exploding bolts right into its face. Another barrage of energy from Brennan’s staff, and a strike from Bull, and the bear falters. Brennan gets between it and Cassandra’s form, blocking her from any further attack, while Varric and Bull finish it off.

Before the beast has even fallen, he drops to his knees beside her.

“Cassandra?” he pleads, releasing his staff and grabbing both of her hands desperately in his. “Cassandra, can you hear me?”

“Let’s get that helmet off,” Varric says gently, coming over and taking a knee at her other side. He does the honours, for which Brennan is very grateful. His own hands are shaking far too hard to release the clasps.

Her face is deadly pale, and when Varric finally gets the whole thing off, they see that the metal is cracked. It drips as he drops it to one side.

Varric lifts his hand from the back of her head, red with blood.

Her blood.

He releases her hands, digging in his belt for a healing potion. Nothing there. He looks up, and sees two other stricken faces.

“None left, boss. If I’d known…”

“You couldn’t have predicted it,” Varric consoles him, voice steady, hand clamped back across the wound. “The rift took it out of all of us.”

“Camp’s not far,” Bull says, getting to his feet. “I can carry her.”

“No!”

Brennan only realises that he’s said it when the other two give him strange, wary looks.

“We can’t move her like that,” he clarifies. “It could make things worse.”

Bull nods, edgy. “I’ll go for help. Camp’s not far.”

He rushes off without waiting for a response.

The dwarf props Bianca against his leg, fingers not on the trigger, but close enough that Brennan is certain he’s still on high alert. Brennan breathes deeply, looking inside himself with a single-minded focus.

“Varric, can you help me lift her? Carefully?”

He looks wary, eyes darting from Cassandra to Bianca and back again, but he does as he’s asked, helping Brennan to turn the warrior onto her side, giving Brennan access to her injury.

“What are you…”

“Please be quiet. I need to… need to concentrate.”

Healing magic was never one of his particular specialities at the Circle, and he has never been called upon to use it in the field. Not for anyone else, at least. He has, however, become quite adept at healing his own minor burns, cuts and bruises: to conserve healing potions and prevent people needing to worry about him. Head injuries are more complex, but the mechanics are the same.

Carefully, he moves Varric’s hand, getting him to use it to support her neck instead.

He pulls his waterskin from his belt. There’s not much left in it, but enough to gently trickle across the back of her head, washing some of the blood from her hair. The injury isn’t as large as he’d feared. Leaving his fingers framing the wound, he closes his eyes.

Healing magic is the opposite of closing a rift, he thinks.

Where he has to pull and pull and pull the force out of a rift, taking it all inside himself, making his nerves scream with the additional power, healing feels more like a gentle push. Releasing a steady stream of light and energy into the wound. Soft, always soft. He’s sure there are spirit healers who can push the magic into a body as hard as he has to pull the magic out of a rift, but that’s never worked for him.

He imagines knitting the flesh together as if sewing it with thin golden threads. Shimmering like those first few rays of sunlight in the morning. Evaporating like the dew that clings to the flowers as it rises.

Then, he sinks lower. Deeper. Stretching out his magic to bring down the swelling he can feel below the flesh, below the bone.

Nerves fire beneath his skin, echoing hers.

He pushes further, draining the well of mana within him to flow along her veins and arteries, seeking other, more hidden injuries. Bruises vanish in his wake, cuts close, aching bones and muscles ease. There is so much pain in her body for him to find, and it only encourages him to sink further.

And further.

And further.

And then he blacks out…

*

When he wakes, the first thing he notices is the sticky sweet flavour of lyrium on his lips. It tastes like heaven, and he licks them clean before he forces his eyes to open.

He is expecting a wide, blue sky, but canvas stretches above him instead.

Beneath him is not the solid ground, but a camp-bed, and a soft pillow.

And knelt at his side, gripping tight to his hand…

“Cassandra?”

She startles, opening her eyes and releasing him with an expression that is both relief and wrath.

“You!” she lets out, hands shaking as if she isn’t sure whether to embrace him or strangle him where he lies. Then she takes a deep breath. “How are you feeling?”

He tests his body before responding, lifting his head a little to see if pain shatters through him, but all he feels is tired. Drained. Like he’s a piece of cloth, wrung out and left to drip dry. Within himself, despite the lyrium on his lips, he feels empty. Bled almost dry. The mark too, is flaring weaker than it usually does; the fire banked, if not entirely extinguished.

“Tired,” he admits. Then, remembering the events that had led up to his untimely loss of consciousness, “how are you?”

She gives him a look that is as incredulous as it is furious. “How am I? You almost killed yourself!”

He doesn’t think that’s a fair assessment of the situation, but he’s too weak to argue with her.

“You were injured.”

“And I would have recovered without your help!” she grinds out. “But _you_ very nearly perished, and for what? For me? You would have doomed the world, the very fabric of reality to save _my_ life?”

Yes, he wants to say. _Yes._ Because it might be a terrible thing to say, especially after only knowing her for a mere handful of months, but he can’t imagine a world without her in it anymore. He doesn’t want to. And if that means it’s a choice between her and the rest of existence, he’s honestly not sure which path he would be able to bring himself to tread.

But he can’t tell her any of that, so instead he looks away from her, casting his gaze at his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. Do better, _Herald_. Remember your duty. Without you, the world may well end.”

(And without you, mine would, he thinks, but doesn’t voice.)

He can’t meet her eyes, and she takes it for acceptance.

“Good. Now that we are clear, drink this.”

She retrieves a vial of potion from a nearby table, and helps him to sit up a little so he can drink. His hands shake too much to grip it easily, so she holds it for him, bringing her other hand behind to support his back. He tries not to enjoy it too much.

“I _am_ sorry, Cassandra,” he says, when the vial is drained, and he is lying down again. “I should have been more prepared.”

She rises from her knees, tutting at him as she absentmindedly straightens his blanket. It might be his imagination, but she seems to be moving easier than he’s seen in the past few months. Less weight on her shoulders. If it’s the result of his healing endeavours, he can’t be anything but grateful.

“It is my duty to protect you,” she reminds him, her voice softer than it has been thus far. “Not the other way around. You will remember this in future, Trevelyan.”

He nods, because what else can he do?

She nods back at him.

“Rest, Herald. Prepare yourself, for we cannot know what tomorrow will bring.”

He forces himself to smile. “So long as it’s not a _four_ bear ambush, I think we’ll be all right.”

She snorts in disgust, but there’s something lighter around her eyes.

He’ll take it as a victory.

**Author's Note:**

> Who doesn't like a good Cassandra & The Three Bears story? No lie, that was almost the title of this fic. :D


End file.
